


Panic

by fatgeesesayhonk, Lepord257



Series: Dead Men verse [5]
Category: Red vs. Blue
Genre: Angst, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, I promise they're coming, Wash on the Tartarus!AU, because the mercs are still not here, eventually
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-01
Updated: 2019-06-01
Packaged: 2020-04-06 05:50:06
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,462
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19056481
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fatgeesesayhonk/pseuds/fatgeesesayhonk, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lepord257/pseuds/Lepord257
Summary: “Why didn’t you kill me? If you know what I’ve done, why didn’t you kill me?”On a prison ship in the ass-end of nowhere, Wash has an important conversation.





	Panic

**Author's Note:**

> I'm back!! This one took a bit longer bc finals and moving and I needed to coordinate with fatgeesesayhonk more than I usually do for this series. It's a very important fic for Al and Wash and I wanted to be sure it was exactly right.
> 
> cw for a panic attack and brief suicidal ideation
> 
> Wash is in a place, man

Coffee at breakfast becomes a routine. Wake up before Co, meet Al at the staff door, receive a thermos full of coffee with enough sugar to bake a cake, and hand it back at lunch. Al never has the time to stick around after the first time, and Wash is perfectly content to let that continue. It’s during week two that Wash is forced to admit the low-maintenance arrangement was too good to last.

Alaska has two thermoses when he meets them at the door, and neither of them sparkle. Wash raises an eyebrow as he takes his. “What’s the occasion?”

“Swapped shifts with Stasney. Seemed like as good an opportunity to say ‘hi’ as I was gonna get. I don’t get a lot of free time to fraternize with prisoners,” they say.

“I seem to recall you making time to fraternize with _one_ prisoner.”

As soon as the words leave his mouth he regrets them. Having Colorado around has made everything seem so _easy_ , he keeps forgetting he doesn’t get to have this. That casual banter and the playful jabs are reserved for partners. Team mates. Alaska is here on a job and Wash is a means to an end. Not a-

Alaska’s wheezing. For a split second, Wash panics, convinced they’re… Choking. Or something. But then Al is doubled over with laughter, a hand on Wash’s arm to keep them steady.

“Yeah, that’s-” They snort. “-That’s fair.” They take a few deep breaths and a sip of coffee before they continue. “But seriously. We haven’t actually talked since - God, since Freelancer. How are you?”

Wash lets his heart rate slow before he says anything. “I’m...fine?” He says, surprised at how true it is. “Colorado got his hands on scrapbook paper and decided he does origami now.”

Alaska looks intrigued. “I didn’t know he could do origami.”

“That’s because he can’t.”

Al snorts. “How’s the whole roommate thing going, by the way?”

“Fine.” He’s surprised again by the truth of the statement. When Co showed up in his cell and announced the arrangement he’d had visions of fires and cell searches and rambling monologues until one in the morning. He hadn’t pictured a hundred discarded paper almost-frogs, stories of vigilante justice gone wrong, or security in the knowledge that someone was watching his back. “It’s been nice, actually.” He shakes himself. “How’s the guard thing?”

“Boring, mostly. Nobody wants to start shit in front of a guard. Shocking, I know.”

“Sounds terrible. I’ll have to start a riot or something. Liven the place up.”

Al laughs. “Please do.”

They settle into companionable silence for a while, until the coffee gets cold and the question he’s been pondering since he first saw them in the yard weighs too heavy in his mind to ignore.

“Why are you here, anyway? On the Tartarus. Seems like a lot of effort to kill one guy.”

“Eh, If we don’t do something big and stupid at least once a year, big and stupid finds us. Besides,” they grin at him, “it had some unexpected upsides.” Their smile fades into something more serious, and they look away from him. “Phi did some digging when we found out you were here.”

Phi. Of course. Wash doesn’t know how many fragments they split the alpha into, just where they went. A dozen too unstable to risk implantation stored at Comand, a half dozen they unravelled as soon as they were cut loose. A handful for the alpha team, a handful given at the Counselor's whim based on who would be the most interesting to tear apart. Colorado and Alaska had received two of the latter. They were supposed to have been the Meta’s first victims. If they’d been in hiding the whole time like they said, it made sense that they still had their fragments.

“What did you find?” he hears himself ask.

Al frowns at their thermos. “Court records. Personal notes. Mission logs.” They lock eyes with Wash and he can’t look away. “I know what happened.”

His pulse is racing, pounding in his ears. They don’t have a rifle, but they do have a pistol. Half a second to drop the coffee, another to bring it to bear. He needs distance, needs to run, but running leaves him open.

“Oh, fuck. Wash. _Washington.”_

Close combat. He’s better than them in close combat, needs to disarm them but his pulse is race and he can’t _move_. They take a step towards him and he can’t breathe either. His shoes are wet, why are they wet?

“Dammit. Okay, that’s entirely my fault. Fuck.” Their voice turns soft and gentle. “Wash, you’re okay. I’m not gonna hurt you. I’m gonna put down the thermos, okay?”

They bend down slowly, carefully, setting the thermos (midnight blue, armor blue, won’t-bother-with-a-fight blue, why-haven’t-they-killed-him-yet blue) at the edge of a slowly expanding coffee puddle. His eyes snap to their hands, to silver splints on thumbs, to open palms as they stand back up.

“Do you know where you are, Wash? Can you focus on my voice?”

They pause, waiting for an answer he can’t give. There’s a band around his chest, squeezing. He barely hears their next words through the buzzing in his head.

“You’re on the Tartarus, and I’ve got your back, okay? I’m not gonna hurt you. I’m not gonna touch you. Unless you want a hug or something, but that ball’s in your court. I’m on your side, Wash, I’m not gonna hurt you. Just focus on my voice. I’m gonna take some deep breaths, can you breathe with me?”

Breathing sounds good. Breathing sounds excellent. They take a deep breath, he tries to match it, he really does, but-

“That’s okay, just try again. Breathe in…”

He gets it this time, a shaking inhale, more of a gasp-

“-and out. That’s good. In...out. You’re doing great. Keep breathing.”

The second is easier, and by the third he feels a dizziness he hadn’t even registered abating. Gradually, he’s able to take stock of his surroundings beyond guns and braces. Al’s steady litney fades into the background as he catalogues fluorescent lights, a metal corridor, the thermos he dropped, and the resulting coffee spill that’s ruined his shoes.

“Are you okay?” Al asks eventually.

Wash nods, not trusting his voice.

“I’m sorry, Wash. Do you- do you wanna talk about it?”

Wash swallows and stares at his shaking hands. God, he’s so tired. There’s a bone-deep exhaustion that goes beyond the adrenaline dump. He wants to crawl into bed and sleep for a thousand years. Wants to not have to look over his shoulder for once. Wants to stop running. Wants to stop. _Doesn’t_ want to have this conversation. Needs to anyway.

“Why didn’t you kill me? If you know what I’ve done, why didn’t you kill me?”

Al looks genuinely shocked. “What the - why would I kill you? Wash, you did some bad shit, but I’m not about to ignore the circumstances you were in. Good people do bad shit for a lot of reasons. You - Wash, you regret what happened, right?”

Wash stares for a moment, uncomprehending. Then he nods once, jerkily.

“Just for comparison’s sake, Price doesn’t. He caused all that pain and suffering and death and he has never once felt bad about it or tried to fix what he broke.” Al bends and retrieves their thermos. “I consider you a friend, Wash. I meant it when I said I got your back.”

Wash can’t look at them anymore. He squeezes his eyes shut and counts his breaths. One, two, three, until he gets to five and feels ready to get his thoughts in order again. He lays them out in his head like note cards spread out on a desk.

On one: Alaska is efficient. On the flipside it lists the evidence in bullet points. There’s hours of drills with no wasted flourishes, no wasted movement. Their escape from the project when they vanished into the night with their partner and records wiped clean.

On another: Alaska is kind. The bullet points list their relationship with Co, granola bars on missions, the story about Amy, the coffee, and this.

On another the conclusion: If Alaska wanted him dead he’d be dead. They wouldn’t bother luring him in with coffee and kindness when they could just as easily put a bullet in his head and say he attacked them. They wouldn’t even want to.

“You still with me, Wash?”

“Yeah...yeah. I’m just...I’m going to go back to bed for a bit.”

“That sounds like a good idea. Do you want me to walk you back?”

“No, I’ve got it.” He pauses. “Thanks.”

God, he hope Co doesn’t ask what’s wrong when he gets back.

  


**Author's Note:**

> [ivekilledmonsters](http://ivekilledmonsters.tumblr.com/) on tumblr
> 
> I crave validation


End file.
